


Father of Understanding

by qualapec



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Ned Undercover as a templar, Rescue, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5873893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qualapec/pseuds/qualapec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes Jacob’s loud bar talk can come in handy. Not most days, but sometimes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father of Understanding

Smoke billows up from the furnaces. Air currents pull the haze skywards, through the smokestacks and out the windows, but the smell is still oppressive, suffocating. Jacob struggles to breathe, partly because of the smoke, and partly because blood is pouring into the back of his throat from a split in his nose, and he has to spit it out, like a rowboat with a leak needs to bail water. All he can taste is black and red, and even that is flooded with pain when a Blighter shoves his boot into Jacob’s twisted elbow. Jacob doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a scream, but he’s not the kind of person who can stay silent; what comes out is a growl.

The Blighter smiles down at him cruelly. Jacob forces a smile, and his lips pull at the congealing coating on his front teeth. He says something, but the Blighter doesn’t hear him. When he leans closer, Jacob spits a mouthful of blood into his face, with almost perfect aim, and says, “When I get free, I’m going to kill you.”

That earns him another kick. Jacob feels like it was worth it for the moment of sheer chaotic delight it brings him. It’s also true.

There are a series of knocks on the large gate, and Jacob doesn’t recognize the code, but he can tell it’s a password. His head is pounding but he still tries to catch all of it. 

The Templar in command sends two large Blighters to go open the door. They’re bulky men who should have no trouble lifting the huge bolt, but they stop to exchange a look and hesitate until the Templar in charge orders them once more. He won’t ask a third time. Before the door is even fully open to the night, a slight figure enters dressed in a long leather coat, marked on the shoulder with a crossed mantle, flanked by more Blighters behind him. Jacob wonders what Templar captain his capture has pulled out of the London woodwork until the newcomer steps into the light from the burning coals, and Ned Wynert approaches to inspect Jacob.

Jacob begins to feel the—familiar—punch of betrayal in the moments before Ned winks at him over his glasses. Jacob understands. Now that he’s looking for the ruse in the low light, he can see it. The Blighters that came in with Ned are all either too small or too big, and not used to carrying weapons. They’re not fighters or killers, they’re thieves and they look terrified.

“Mr. Waverly?” The Templar commander ventures, drawing Ned’s attention. Ned folds his arms behind his back. “We were not expecting you for another half day.”

“Good,” Ned says amiably, even if his voice has a commanding snap to it. “I wanted to show up early. You can never be too careful with our good friends the  _ Assassins  _ around.”

“Of course not,” the Templar agrees, folding his arm under his torso and bowing as Ned examines the factory. “My apologies.”

Ned grins. “You’re forgiven, my friend.” He looks displeased as he looks Jacob over. “He was supposed to be unharmed.”

The Templar starts at that, his mustache diving downwards. “Excuse me, my lord?”

“Maybe the note got lost,” Ned admits. “I’ll look into it. Either way, I was hoping he would be… unharmed.”

Maybe it’s Jacob’s tiredness, or maybe it’s his attention span, but the next thing he notices is how  _ good _ Ned looks in the Templar coat. Evie must have put him up to this, because it’s been tailored to fit him. She also must have coached Ned, because he’s got just the right mix of authority and spoiled distain.

“Sir,” the Templar said, still cordially apologetic, but Jacob can see he’s growing agitated. “This is Jacob Frye. Please understand that capturing any Assassin alive is a feat, but to capture Jacob Frye… it is a miracle half my command can still walk.” He’s offended, and Jacob hopes Ned will pick up on it and alter his approach. “It was also my understanding that the new Grand Master is paying a hefty price for the  _ head _ of either twin.”

He stops when Ned checks his watch. “ _ Big guy _ ,” he says, “it’s _ fine _ . Relax. God, the English and your apologies.” He waves his hands in the air. “It’s not a big deal. And plans for the twins have changed. Especially this one.” He gestures to Jacob. “His sister? Now she’s a threat to the Templar Order. She’s scary, can drop from thin air. She could be watching us now. Mr. Frye, on the other hand? He has diversified.”

“What are the Order’s plans, then, your worship?”

Ned grins. If he’s sweating, Jacob can’t see it.

Again, Ned spreads his arms, and this time he twirls around the factory floor. Jacob can’t help but get another little thrill at how devilish Ned looks surrounded by fire, in the long black coat of a Templar captain. “What  _ are _ our plans? Well, we’ll get what we can out of him first, that goes without question, but this is the age of profit!”

The Templar continues to stare blankly. Ned rolls his eyes. “The  _ highest bidder _ . We’re selling him for the highest price. Except to the Assassins, of course, but who knows, the week is young.”

To his credit, the Templar seems as repulsed by that suggestion as he probably should be. And Jacob worries. That last big flourish may have been too much on Ned’s part, and Jacob can see the Templar’s attitude change. “Of course. He’s all yours.” He pauses, expectantly shifting on his feet and watching Ned.

The silence is vacuous and deadly, and Jacob isn’t used to being afraid but this is the moment that will win or kill the gambit. He wants to interrupt, maybe distract the Templar or give Ned the answer he needs. His own tiredness is what holds Jacob back; he can’t risk blowing Ned’s cover.

He has to trust Ned, has to trust that Evie prepared him thoroughly before sending him to pick through the vipers.

Ned barely misses a beat, and his smile widens in victory. “Oh? We’re standing on formality? Well, may the Father of Understanding guide us, gentlemen.”

That line, and Ned’s delivery, sells the act. The Templar is still suspicious, but he relaxes and gestures for Ned to bring his men to come investigate Jacob for the transaction. Ned orders his men to pull Jacob up to his feet, and they begin to drag him out of the factory. A thief Jacob doesn’t recognize even tries to push him over to try and help the group be more convincing. Jacob would normally let it go, or play along, but he’s had a bad day and glowers back. The stranger cringes and Jacob instantly feels bad.

“Where are you taking him?” The Templar calls out from behind them.

Jacob watches Ned freeze, and sees what was probably fear be transformed into anger as Ned whirls on the first templar, folding his hands behind his back, and glowering over his glasses. “That’s not for you to know.”

“Right,” the Templar in charge looks chagrined, and lowers his head. “My apologies, again.”

Jacob releases his own tense breath. Worry, he realizes, that’s more directed at Ned than himself.

Ned carefully walks up and places his hand on Jacob’s shoulder; outwardly rough, but Jacob feels the camaraderie and the concern through Ned’s palm, the way his fingers squeeze around the roundest part of the joint. Jacob starts planning his compliment to Ned for his performance later.

The band of thieves, with Ned leading Jacob by the arm, is almost at the threshold when they’re met by a man in a Templar uniform, flanked by real Blighters.

Jacob’s mind has been slowed by a day in captivity, but he realizes their mistake instantly. Ned isn’t far behind him, based on the slow, controlled exhalation of air he feels on the back of his neck; it’s Ned’s favorite way of saying,  _ Fuck _ .

The first Templar, while slower than anyone else and probably feeling like a tit, still realizes the con and yells, “They’re not ours!  _ Fire! _ ” from somewhere behind them.

Jacob’s reflexes save him and Ned. He slips Ned’s foot out from under him, braces him against his body, and drags both of them behind heavy barrels as gunfire rains on Ned’s thieves. A couple are killed instantly, a couple duck out of the factory doors without taking a single shot. Some of the runners are caught by the Blighters waiting outside. The result isn’t pretty.

Most of them are simply hurt. The first volley leaves the unfortunate a bleeding mess on the blackened dirt of the factory. Anyone who can scream does when they learn where the blood is coming from.

Jacob feels a punch of guilt in his chest when he remembers that he and Ned have had drinks with most of them, realizes they probably volunteered to come rescue him. They’ll die if they don’t move quickly—they might even die if they do—there’s no time for hesitation or mourning, but he can see Ned with his back braced to metal. He’s struggling to control his breathing, struggling not to think about the slaughter.

At the highest point of the chaos, Evie drops down from above and drives her hidden blade deep into the throat of the lead Templar, right in the place where his neck meets his chest; he’s dead even before the rest of her reaches him. The two of them hit the ground together in a silent, deadly heap.

The stunned pause that follows awakens anyone still capable of acting or fighting. Every Templar and Blighter reaches for their weapons, and Evie tosses a smoke bomb towards the door. A number of Ned’s thieves pull themselves to their feet and start shooting to protect those crawling to safety. One or two don’t move at all.

“Damn it!” Jacob curses, and Ned pulls him back behind cover as the Blighters regain their footing and start firing wildly. “ _ I _ was going to kill him.”

Ned’s watching him incredulously. Whatever fear or hesitation he showed a moment ago is gone, replaced by the focus Jacob loves so much. “Are you really  _ that _ offended?”

“I guess not.” He reconsiders. “I  _ am _ disappointed.”

Quickly, but with steady hands, Ned’s trying to undo the irons around Jacob’s hands. Jacob can hardly contain his excitement as Ned delicately works the complicated lock. Even as long as it’s taking, Jacob’s still impressed. Templar locks are built to keep Assassins out and in. But for someone who doesn’t deal with them every day? It’s very challenging, and Jacob is, again, very taken with Ned’s expertise. A Blighter rounds the corner behind them, and Jacob springs into action, driving his head into the Blighter’s, stunning him long enough to pivot and knock his face into spent—but still searing—embers in a nearby tub. Without missing a beat and while the Blighter clasps his boiling eyes, Jacob returns to Ned and kneels with his back to him. “Come on, Wynert. I want to hit things.”

“You just did.” Some people’s hands get nervous when they talk, or when there are bullets flying around, not Ned though. There might be a gunfight going on around them but his hands don’t miss a moment; they don’t shake or shudder or falter.

“That was just one of them!” Jacob’s voice is shockingly cheery—despite the tragedy, he’s brimming with energy—as Ned finally gets the cuffs off. He springs up, grabs the kukri and throwing knives Ned hands him. “I have a lot more to get through.” Jacob throws a knife clear across the room, and it sinks into the neck of a Blighter that’s coming up behind Evie as she slides her cane-sword out of its sheath and arcs it into the stomach of another.

With a grin, Jacob wheels on Ned. “I could kiss you, y’know.”

“Maybe,” Ned allows, “ _ if  _ we make it out of here alive.”

Ned gestures behind him to a Blighter charging at them, and Jacob uses his good hand to  _ fillet  _ the poor bastard. Ned seems to look away, and even that makes Jacob smile wider.

There’s a flash of green and yellow near the entrance now, as a group of Rooks finally show up, pulling the thieves they can reach to safety and covering the others.

“I accept your challenge,” Jacob says, and drives his kukri through another neck, and there’s a spray of blood across smoldering industry. He shoots Ned a wink. “Oh, ah, don’t throw away that coat, Wynert. It might be good to keep it on retainer.”

 

  
THE END


End file.
